


Trying Part I: What's The Use

by chochowilliams



Series: The Boy With the Pink Hair [1]
Category: Gravitation
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Language, M/M, alternative universe, attempted non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:56:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chochowilliams/pseuds/chochowilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shuichi’s world changed the day he turned sixteen. Nothing would ever be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying Part I: What's The Use

**Trying Part 1: What’s the Use?**  
 **The Boy with the Pink Hair series**  
 **Written by:** chochowilliams  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Gravitation_ or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.  
 **Summary:** AU. Shuichi’s world changed the day he turned sixteen. Nothing would ever be the same again.  
 **Warning:** AU, Language, Attempted non-con, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Family, OCs  
 **Pairings:** none  
 **Inserts:** “Time of Our Lives”,  Somewhere in California, Night Ranger  
 **A/N:** This is the first installment in The Boy with the Pink Hair series. Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

_What’s the use in trying_   
_I’m tired of all the crying_   
_If I had a choice_   
_I’d choose a different voice_   
_So what’s the use in lying_   
_What’s the use in trying_   
_When you’ve done your best it’s high time_   
_That you hit the road_   
_Don’t look back anymore_   
_What’s the use in trying_

**-From “Time of Our Lives”, Somewhere in California, Night Ranger**

 

* * *

 

**Part I: What’s the Use?**

**April 16th - Byakko, Japan - Byakko All Boys High School**

It was the same as the day before and the day before that. The routine had not differed in years. Step for step, they followed the boy out of the locker room and out of the school. Like shadows, they stalked the boy as he waddled down the walk and out through the front gates.

The earth trembled with each step he took. The boy panted like a marathon runner and wheezed like an asthmatic with every breath he took. Layers of sweat caused the boy’s custom made uniform to stick to his rolls and folds and mounds of jiggly bits. The boy’s greasy raven locks and his oily forehead, covered with dozens of angry red blemishes that had blemishes of their own, shined like a beacon under the warm spring sun as he turned right, intended to head straight home so he could start dinner just as he did every day.

They followed.

The boy knew they were there, but as he did the day before and the day before that, he ignored them. Usually, they would get bored and leave the boy alone. Small people. Small minds. Small attention spans. Since it’s worked in his favor so far, the boy was confident the streak would continue.

Unfortunately, this day, the routine was not the same. This day, ignoring the bullies who had tormented him throughout his entire school career would prove to work against the boy.

This day, they were unusually silent as they followed the boy. There were no snide remarks or insults. No pebbles or bits of garbage were being hurled at the boy. For the first time since starting school, the boy felt free. This freedom lulled the boy into what would turn out to be a false sense of security.

As the boy contemplated what he could make for dinner that night, they split. The leader of what the boy called, “The Brainless Trio” with his short-cropped black hair that shined reddish brown in the sunlight, nodded to his two buddies. One went one way and the other went the other way. The leader remained as the boy’s shadow.

“Yo, Shindou,” the leader called out to the boy smugly.

The boy ignored him and proceeded down the side street that lead directly to his house.

“Shindou! Hey, Shuichi Shindou!”

With a sigh, Shuichi stopped and half turned. “Aizawa,” he said in a flat tone of voice as the older male student jogged towards him.

A glance over his shoulder reminded Shuichi of just how close he was to the small house he shared with his widowed mother. It was a mere stone’s throw away; though it could be a million miles away for all the good it did him.

“So, Shindou, is it true?” Taki Aizawa asked as he came to a halt in front of the boy. He glanced down at the fat tub of lard with a gloating smirk.

Shuichi knew how to play the game by now. He was an expert--had reluctantly become a master of the art. He knew what the rules were though he wished he didn’t.

As he stood there in the deserted side street a mere hundred yards from his front door, standing toe to toe with and staring into the smug dark eyes of his tormentor, Shuichi felt something foreign stirring in his belly. It wasn’t anything he could remember feeling in a long time. Fear.

Gulping, Shuichi took a tentative step backwards. “Is what true?” he asked in a breathless whisper.

Taki’s grin grew. He swallowed the step that Shuichi had just taken. “That today is your birthday.”

Unable to form the words, Shuichi merely nodded.

“Sixteen, huh?”

Once again, words failed Shuichi. Sweat trickled down the side of his face and down his spine. He tried to swallow but it was blocked by a lump that had become lodged in his throat. That something--the fear, the unease--that had been stirring just moments earlier exploded. Unsure when it started, Shuichi was able to stop shaking.

There was movement behind him.

Already on edge, Shuichi gasped audibly and whipped around. Out of the shadows crept the other two-thirds of Taki’s trio of brainless morons. He gulped.

This was not good.

Behind him, Taki snickered.

Taki stepped forward. A shard of glass crunched under his foot. Shuichi whipped around at the noise. His violet eyes, already magnified a thousand fold behind the coke bottle glasses that had been broken dozens of times by Taki himself over the years, were wide with fear and sparkled with unshed tears.

A shiver of delight jolted up Taki’s spine at the sight.

Glancing over the boy’s shoulder, Taki caught the others’ gaze and gave a barely noticeable nod. They crept forward instantly.

Sensing their movement, Shuichi turned so that he could keep all three of the older boys in his sight and started to back away, but each step taken away from them brought them one-step closer. It was like his nightmares. He ran and ran and ran but found he was getting nowhere. Shuichi nearly sobbed out in frustration. As it was, a single tear rolled its way down his cheek. Hurriedly, Shuichi swept at it, but it was too late. Taki and his goon squad had already seen it and it delighted them. The insane gleam in their eyes twisted Shuichi’s stomach.

Trembling, Shuichi’s gaze rotated between the three boys continuously. When his back hit a solid surface, Shuichi started and whimpered.

Taki and the other two chuckled.

Shuichi glanced frantically around for help, but suspiciously, there was nobody. Occasionally a car would whiz by, but otherwise the mouth of the side street was deserted, as was the opposite end. Shuichi opened his mouth to scream in order to catch the attention of the passing motorists, and was horrified when nothing but a squeak came out.

Taki and his unnamed lackeys cackled at that and boxed the terrified sixteen-year-old against the side of the building.

Shuichi couldn’t even plead. He just stood there crying and trembling as the three approached, blocking all escape.

He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer as the first blow landed.

The one reprieve he had was unconsciousness. It thankfully came quickly that day and whisked him away as the beating escalated.

What he remembered clearly was Taki whispering harshly, “Happy Birthday Shindou”, before blissful nothingness claimed him.

 

* * *

 

When Shuichi was but a mere toddler, he lost his father.

Mr. Shindou had been working overtime for weeks prior to his death in preparation for a merger that was to take place between the import-export business he worked for and a smaller trading company that had been working in conjunction with his company for years. When the owner and founder of the small trading company passed away unexpectedly, talks started almost immediately between the new owner and the larger import-export business for which Shuichi’s father worked. It had taken a year, but finally, the merger was going ahead.

Some were against the merger. They believed it would cost them jobs. Others claimed the larger import-export business Mr. Shindou worked for would have an unaccosted monopoly on importing and exporting. Of course, they were wrong on both fronts.

Working long hours on very little to no sleep finally caught up with Mr. Shindou that fateful day. Last minute preparations forced him to work late into the night. By the time he left, he could hardly keep his eyes open. Instead of staying at a nearby hotel in which the company kept rooms, he decided to head home to his pregnant wife and son.

Knowing his chaotic work schedule would not coincide with the subway schedule, Mr. Shindou had been using the car to get to work. That decision would have detrimental results that night.

It was the middle of the night and Mr. Shindou had not passed another vehicle on the road until that one second his heavy-laden eyes had closed over tired achy eyes. Neither he nor the lone occupant of the other car, a woman from Kyoto with three children of her own, survived.

By dawn, news of her husband’s death reached Mrs. Shindou. Pregnant with her second child, a girl she’d planned to name after her mother, Shuichi’s mother ended up having to be sedated. To add insult to injury, she suffered a miscarriage not long afterwards.

It took a long time for Shuichi to understand what had become of his father. No matter how many times it was explained to him, he just could not seem to understand that his father would never be stepping foot in through the front door with his big goofy grin and his twinkling violet eyes. Day after day at exactly five o’clock when his father would normally arrive home from work, before overtime had him working all hours of the day and night, Shuichi would stand in the front hall watching the door, eagerly awaiting the arrival of his father. Only his father never came home.

This continued for the next couple of years until he finally came to the unfortunate realization that his father truly wasn’t coming home again.

With the wall of denial broken, Shuichi spiraled into a deep well of depression.

He started to act out and thus alienated all his friends. Not only had he been abandoned by his father, but now by his friends. This double loss only served to force the grip of despair and melancholy around the boy to tighten and as a result, he found comfort in food and music, the prior of which would ultimately lead the boy to go from being the bully to the bullied.

Shuichi was not the only one having a difficult time accepting and moving past the death of the man who had been the pillar and foundation of the family. Mrs. Shindou found life incomprehensible without her love by her side. Only her son--knowing that her child needed her kept her from spiraling downwards.

Concerning her son, she knew she’d done the best she could. It certainly hadn’t been easy, as a recently widowed, newly single mother, to raise and comfort a three year old who cried at night for his daddy when she herself did the same. How can you be strong for your child when you feel anything but? How can you assure your child that everything is going to be all right when you yourself could not find assurance or comfort in those empty and hollow words?

As difficult as it was, she forced herself to remain strong--at least in front of her child--despite how weak and broken she felt.

After the death of her husband, her son became her whole world and it broke her heart when she discovered that he was being tormented at school.

At first, she hadn’t taken the bullying very seriously. After all, they were just children--boys at that. Boys will be boys…right? It was nothing to worry about…right? A few scuffles, maybe resulting in a broken nose and bruised egos and it would be out of their system…right? Surely, they would grow tired of behaving like brainless morons and grow up…right?

Her son himself had assured her it was nothing and she’d believed him…until he came home two months ago with a broken arm. The boys who would dare harm her son were suspended and facing criminal charges.

That was that…or so she thought, but at least things quieted down.

For the first time since her husband died, her son, her little Shuichi, could enjoy his birthday in peace.

Tears stung her eyes. Her baby was sixteen today. Sixteen! Where had the time gone? How had he grown up so fast?

It was thoughts of her son and his reaction to his birthday gift that occupied her mind as she walked the short distance from the bus stop to her house. She had purchased the new Nittle Grasper album that afternoon during her break. Across the street from Byakko General Hospital where she worked as a nurse was a small independently owned and operated music store. While she’d been standing in line, who should walk in but the Ryuichi Sakuma. The singer had seen the CD in her hand, whipped out his black permanent marker and autographed the jeweled case.

Shuichi was going to faint. No. First, he was going to scream and then he was going to faint.

With a wide grin, Mrs. Shindou rounded the corner, stepping from the main street to the side street that led directly to her house and stopped dead. The smile vanished. Her dark chocolate eyes went wide. Her tanned complexion went white. The straw bag that had been a gift from her son slid off her shoulder and down her arm and fell to the ground, its contents spilling everywhere. Her mouth opened and a terrible scream came out.

Surrounding a figure sprawled out in a shadowy alley halfway down the side street was a trio of boys wearing what appeared to be Byakko’s All Boys High School uniforms. One of the boys was kneeling by their victim’s head with a long thin metal pipe in his hand.

“Help! Help! Someone,” she screamed. “Help!”

The boys started at the sound, turned to see her standing there, and sneered.

A small crowd started to gather around her. They murmured to one another as they took in the scene before them in disgust and contempt. One of the elderly gentlemen who ran the small pharmacy across the street called out to the high school boys while the gathered crowd recorded what was happening on their phones.

“Hey! Hey you three! What’s going on there?” the elderly man demanded.

“This ain’t got nothing to do with you old man,” the shorter male called out. Mrs. Shindou took note of this young man’s shaggy black hair. Either this one didn’t own a comb or he had a head full of cowlicks.

“I called the police,” one of the females in the crowd said.

The shorter boy opened his mouth to make some sort of retort, but the tallest of the three--the one who’d been kneeling by their victim’s head--said something sharp that she could not make out and with whoops of laughter, the shorter boy and his friend quickly took off. The third boy, apparently the leader, turned towards her, his dark eyes a glint with smug arrogance, smirked at her then turned and gave the still figure on the ground at his feet a swift kick upside the head before he too whooped out of sight.

Mrs. Shindou gave a roar of rage and tore down the side street blindly. Instead of going after them, she froze at the sight of the poor boy that had fallen victim to the trio of thugs. He was young--couldn’t be much older than her son. He was also naked from the waist down. His white button down shirt had been pulled up over his head.

She was trembling in rage at the audacity of those--miscreants. How could someone do something so vile? So disgusting? Ignoring the widening pool of blood beneath her, she knelt besides the boy and carefully pulled down the boy’s shirt as the elderly man from earlier appeared at her side with the boy’s pants. The elderly pharmacist gently covered the boy with them.

As the boy’s face came into view, Mrs. Shindou froze.

The boy was barely recognizable. His face was swollen beneath all the blood, but she recognized him right away.

Mrs. Shindou threw her head back and howled.

 

* * *

 

**Morning - April 19th - Byakko, Japan - Byakko General Hospital**

“Excuse me,” called out one of the two plainclothes detectives who approached the nurses’ station where a doctor in a long white lab coat was jotting notes into a patient’s file. “Dr. Shigeki Kyle?”

With his attention still trained on the file, Dr. Kyle answered, “Yes?”

“I’m Lieutenant Matsudaira and this is my partner Detective Endou,” Matsudaira introduced. Both men pulled out their badges. “We’d like to speak to you about a Shuichi Shindou that was brought in a couple days ago?”

“Ah, yes, young Mr. Shindou.” Straightening, Dr. Kyle flipped the file closed and handed it to the nurse who was stepped out of a back office just then as he slipped a silver fountain pen into the breast pocket of his lab coat. After relaying a few instructions to the woman about the patient whose file he, presumably, had just been going over, Dr. Kyle turned towards the detectives with a warm smile. He gave their badges a once over. “Mr. Shindou was brought in three days ago,” he explained as he led the two detectives down the hall towards the patient‘s room, “unconscious with a moderate concussion, lacerations to his face and the lower half of his body, several broken ribs, a broken wrist, internal bruising and tearing to the anus.”

“He was raped?”

Dr. Kyle shook his head negatively. “We found no evidence to corroborate any sort of sexual activity, whether consensual or not other than the light tearing. The tearing wasn’t severe enough for it to have been caused by an object,” Dr. Kyle explained. They paused towards the end of a hall that dead-ended at a window that overlooked the parking lot. Dr. Kyle turned around to face the two police officers. He dropped his voice and continued, “It appears as if the boys were interrupted before they could rape Mr. Shindou.”

Matsudaira nodded, thankful that this young man had been spared that at least.

“This is his room,” the middle-aged Canadian-Japanese doctor said with a sweep of his hand to the closed door on the left.

“Thank you, doctor,” Endou said with a nod of his head.

Dr. Kyle inclined his head in return and slipped past them and back down the way they’d come.

Matsudaira stepped forward and knocked lightly on the door. When a soft feminine voice called out, he pushed the door open and stuck his head inside.

Laying in the bed in the middle of the room, pale against the stark white starched bed sheets, his face swollen and discolored and with a cast on his arm was who he assumed was Shuichi Shindou. They had been told the boy was sixteen, but he appeared much younger than that.

Sitting in a chair besides the bed was a woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. “Excuse me,” he said softly as he stepped into the small private room with Endou right behind him. “I’m Lieutenant Matsudaira and this is my partner Detective Endou,” he introduced. Both produced their badges and flashed them at the woman for inspection. “We’re investigating your son’s assault. You would be-?”

“Mrs. Shindou. Shuichi’s mother,” the woman said.

“How is he?” Endou asked, stepping forward.

Mrs. Shindou rose and stepped up to her son’s bedside. She smoothed the covers over his pale, still form. “Alive.”

Endou nodded.

“The doctors are saying that Shuichi was unconscious for most of it,” Mrs. Shindou was saying. She wasn’t sure which was worse: being aware of everything that was happening or having no idea what happened to you. She swiped at a stray tear.

“Mrs. Shindou,” Matsudaira spoke, “what can you tell us about those boys you saw with your son?”

“Not much,” Mrs. Shindou answered truthfully.

“Did you recognize any of them? Would you be able to recognize them if you saw them again?”

Mrs. Shindou nodded. “There were three of them.” She scoffed at that. It took three of them to beat up her son. How pathetic was that? “I’m not sure who the other two boys were, but the leader was Taki Aizawa.”

“And how do you know this Taki Aizawa?” Endou asked.

“He goes to school with my son,” Mrs. Shindou explained. “They also used to be friends. Long ago. They grew up together. My late husband and Taki’s father used to work together at Kana Import-Export.” Mrs. Shindou turned and retook her seat with a heavy sigh, her eyes never once left her son. “Shuichi…Shuichi didn’t handle his father’s death very well. Neither of us did, but Shuichi especially. He started acting out and then they, he and Taki, had a falling out. That’s when Taki started bullying my son. I didn’t take it very seriously until two months ago.”

“And what happened?” Matsudaira asked.

“He, Taki, broke my son’s arm.”

Matsudaira and Endou exchanged glances.

“Taki was suspended for nearly a month as a result.”

“Did you press charges?” Endou asked.

“Shuichi didn’t want me too,” Mrs. Shindou said. “He told me to stay out of it. That I was only making things worse, but he broke my son’s arm!” she exclaimed hotly. “What was I supposed to do?” She swung her head around to face the two plainclothes detectives with a pleading look on her face.

“You did the right thing,” Matsudaira assured the distraught woman.

Mrs. Shindou seemed to withdraw into herself slightly. “But…” She was not so sure that involving the authorities had been the right move. “…If I hadn’t…If I’d just left it alone like he wanted me to…Maybe…Was this revenge? Retaliation? Was this my fault? Did I cause this by having that punk-assed bastard arrested?”

“Mrs. Shindou, this was not your fault,” Endou tried to reassure the woman.

“People like this Taki Aizawa,” Matsudaira added, “we’ve found sometimes come from unstable homes or are victims of abuse or were themselves bullied. Sometimes, they’re not happy or satisfied with some aspect of their lives, such as their father never being home, and they take out their frustrations anyway they can.”

Mrs. Shindou nodded as she settled back and turned towards her son once more. On one hand, she understood. On the other, she didn’t. How can one person have so much anger within him to do something like this?

Matsudaira and Endou knew the interview was over at that point. They thanked the woman, wished her son well in his recovery and exited the private hospital room, but not before Matsudaira handed her his business card. “If you need anything or remember anything else, give me a call. Day or night,” he’d told her.

Out in the hall, Matsudaira glanced down at the name he had jotted down in the small notebook he kept with him at all times. “Taki Aizawa huh?”

“I recognize the name,” Endou said as the two started down the hall towards the elevators. “Arakawa was talking about breaking up a fight the other day involving some third year student from Byakko All Boys High named Taki Aizawa.”

“Think it’s the same guy?”

“Very well could be.”

“Well then, let’s go have a little chat with Mr. Aizawa.”

 

* * *

 

**That Afternoon - Byakko, Japan - Byakko Police Station**

Leaving the hospital, Matsudaira and Endou returned to the precinct to speak with Toru Arakawa, a rookie cop, about his encounter with one Taki Aizawa. Both read the report Arakawa filed, but they wanted to hear it from Arakawa firsthand.

“Byakko Al Boys Junior High is right next door to the high school. They share the gym, pool and auditorium,” Arakawa explained. “Third years from the junior high have one or two classes within the high school itself so it’s not uncommon to see them walking the halls of the high school. I work part time as a security guard at the high school and one day-”

“When was this?” Endou asked.

“About two months back,” Arakawa replied. He did not have to rack his brain to remember this incident. It was clearly emblazoned in his mind for all eternity.

Endou exchanged a knowing look with Matsudaira. Around the same time, Taki Aizawa got himself suspended for breaking Shuichi’s arm.

“Go on,” Matsudaira said.

Arakawa nodded. “I was doing my rounds and wandered into what the kids call ‘the math wing’ that leads to the auditorium, new gymnasium and pool that the high school and junior high share. That area is generally quiet and at first, I didn’t notice anything, but then I heard something--a noise of some sort coming from a classroom I knew to be unused at that time of day. I went to check it out and found Mr. Aizawa straddling another student on the floor, a student from the junior high I gathered from his small size, and pummeling his fists into the boy’s face.”

“He was arrested.” Matsudaira remembered reading that in the file.

“Yes, sir,” Arakawa said, “and subsequently released on bond.”

Endou flipped through Aizawa’s file. “Paid for by his father,” he read.

“Yes, sir.”

“Says here,” Endou continued, “the trial date has been delayed until July?”

“For the third time, yes, sir.”

“What’s your take on Mr. Aizawa?” Matsudaira inquired.

“From what I gathered from speaking with faculty and staff and other students at the high school, Taki Aizawa is extremely intelligent. Very bright. Could be valedictorian if he concentrated on his studies.”

Endou skimmed over a statement given to the police by a Mr. Hideo Konzaka who was a history professor at the high school.

_“Mr. Aizawa doesn’t even try. He doesn’t even pretend to try. He doesn’t show up for classes and when he does, he’s usually sleeping or picking on one of the other students. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to send him to the office. He’s lazy and disruptive, mocks everyone including the teachers. He has no respect for anyone including those brainless oafs who follow him around. He doesn’t hand in any of the assignments, just doodles crude drawings on the tests. When I call on him in class, he’ll tell me to go to hell or something. He’s always trying to pick fights. I fear where he’ll be in ten years. As I said, he’s not all bad. He actually handed in his midterm. Completed. I thought nothing of it. Assuming he’d written random nonsense like usual, but when I was correcting his test, I discovered he aced it.”_

“His parents, of course, claim their son is ‘a good boy’ and ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly’. Respectful,” Arakawa was saying, “but others I spoke to claim Aizawa is egotistical, conceited, self-centered... They say he’s a bully. Smokes. Drinks. One student said he was the ‘son of Satan’.”

Matsudaira had a feeling this was not going to end well. Thanking Arakawa for the information, he and Endou headed out of the station to the Aizawa residence.

 

* * *

 

**Byakko, Japan - Aizawa Residence**

Less than ten minutes later, Matsudaira and Endou were standing on the front stoop of the Aizawa residence, which was a tiny closet-sized white clapboard house that was in serious need of repair. The house was situated on an acre and a half of land. Somehow, it suited the type of man Taki Aizawa was said to be.

“Evening, Ma’am,” Matsudaira greeted the woman who answered his knock. “I’m Lieutenant Kyohei Matsudaira and this is my partner Detective Daiki Endou. We’re from the Byakko Police Department.”

“We’re looking for a Mr. Taki Aizawa,” Endou said.

The woman narrowed her eyes at them. “What do you want with Taki?” she demanded.

“We just need to ask him some questions.”

“About?” the woman snapped.

“Assault and attempted rape-” Matsudaira explained. Something flashed briefly across the woman’s face as he spoke. It was here and gone so quick, neither Matsudaira nor Endou, who had noticed it as well, would have been sure they’d actually seen anything if it wasn‘t for years of experience.

“My son had nothing to do with that,” the woman, now identified as Mrs. Aizawa, said in the same cutthroat tone of voice. “He was here with me!”

“How do you know?” Endou asked. “You don’t even know when the crime took place.”

Mrs. Aizawa’s eye twitched, but remained silent.

“And I don’t remember saying anything about your son being the assailant,” Matsudaira said.

Mrs. Aizawa blanched.

“It’s curious,” Endou said, “that you’d instantly jump to that conclusion instead of fearing that your son was the victim.”

Color returned swiftly to Mrs. Aizawa’s face.

“May we come in?”

“No,” Mrs. Aizawa denied swiftly. “I want you to leave.”

“Sorry, Ma’am, but we cannot do that.”

“My son is not--here. He is a good--boy. My Taki would NEVER do anything like you’re alleging. He would never do something that would dishonor this family,” Mrs. Aizawa explained adamantly. Her dark eyes shined with a fierce light, but her voice was thick with tears

“We have eyewitnesses who place your son at the scene,” Matsudaira was saying.

“They’re lying.”

“There were over a dozen eyewitnesses who claim to have seen-”

“They’re lying,” Mrs. Aizawa reiterated. “My son is a good boy!”

“I’m sure he is,” Endou agreed in the same calm tone of voice he always uses with hysterical civilians, “but we’ll need to speak to your son to get his version of events.”

Mrs. Aizawa was shaking her head.

“When do you expect your son home?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know where he is? Has he gone to see friends?”

“I don’t know.”

“You sure don’t know much for being Taki Aizawa’s mother,” Endou observed.

Irate at the continued accusations, Mrs. Aizawa pursed her lips into a straight line, drew herself up to her full height and glared hotly at the detectives at her doorstep. “You-”

Just then, a loud clatter resounded from the back of the house. Both Matsudaira and Endou snapped to attention and drew their guns. While Endou silently ran-crept around the side of the house towards the backyard, Matsudaira pushed roughly passed Mrs. Aizawa and raced through the house-shoes and all. Mrs. Aizawa followed him, screaming and cursing at him the whole time.

Other than Mrs. Aizawa, the house appeared to be otherwise unoccupied. The same as when they’d pulled up minutes before. It was silent. There was no indication of what that loud clatter had been or where it had emanated from.

“Got a runner,” came the sudden shout from outside. It sounded like Endou. “Giving chase!”

Cursing, Matsudaira tore through the kitchen and out through the back patio doors just in time to see his partner of fifteen years jumping over the back wall. With another curse, he holstered his gun and raced around the house to the car.

He could hear Mrs. Aizawa shouting after her son, egging him on. People like her confused and angered him. There was nothing wrong with supporting a family member or friend who had been accused of a crime. If their positions were reversed, he would support his child come hell or high water no matter what crime his child was accused of committing. If his child turned out to be the Son of Sam or even Jack the Ripper, he would still stand by his child’s side. Nothing a child of his did, or didn’t do, would change his opinion or his love for that child. But that and this were two completely different matters. Supporting your child was one thing, but going so far as to become a co-conspirator? What possible good could come from something like that?

If you’re man enough to do the crime, you’re man enough to do the time.

Jumping into the unmarked cruiser assigned to he and Endou, Matsudaira had the car running and out of park before his backside had even touched the seat. The car tore off down the street with a spray of gravel and dirt and sailed around the corner as if an experienced street racer were at the wheel. The siren was wailing. He called for backup, gave his location and a summary of what was going down.

As Matsudaira came to the next intersection, he was forced to slow down. Other than a car that drove through the next intersection, all was quiet. The streets were empty. He cursed. He started forward, searching, and was about to reach for his radio and call Endou for his location when something large and dark slammed into the front of his car. Matsudaira slammed on his brakes. Whatever he hit slid down the hood and vanished from view. Matsudaira was out of his car a second before Endou appeared. Though sweat dotted his forehead, the man wasn’t so much as out of breath.

Both converged on the figure lying facedown in the middle of the street right in front of the car. It wasn’t moving. Matsudaira had his gun out, safety off and pointed at the figure that appeared to be unconscious or at the most dazed while Endou pulled the figure’s arms behind its back and snapped on handcuffs.

Sirens could be heard in the distance.

Endou flipped the figure over. “Well. Well. Looky here.”

“If it isn’t Taki Aizawa,” Matsudaira said, reholstering his gun.

Taki Aizawa glared at them. “I want a lawyer,” he barked in that same tone his mother had been using just moments before.

“And you’ll get one,” Endou said as he hauled the teen to his feet.

“Maybe you and Mommy Dearest can share one,” Matsudaira said as he helped Endou escort Aizawa to the police cruiser that pulled up just then.

They shoved Taki Aizawa into the back of the police car.

“One down. Two to go,” Endou said.

“Make sure to read the bastard his rights,” Matsudaira told the uniformed officer as he slammed the car door in the teen’s face.

 

* * *

 

**Morning - April 20th - Byakko, Japan - Byakko General Hospital**

Early the next morning, Matsudaira and Endou were back at the hospital. A lot happened in the short time since they were there last. So much so that it was difficult to believe that a mere twenty-four hours had passed since they’d introduced themselves to Mrs. Shindou. Not only had Taki Aizawa been arrested, but also as of quarter to seven that morning, Taki Aizawa was officially charged with assault, battery, attempted rape and a whole slew of other charges. But that wasn’t the only good news they’ve brought to the Shindous.

They stood before the room assigned to Shuichi Shindou. Its door was shut. Silence reigned in this portion of the hospital. There wasn’t even a sound emanating from the room.

Matsudaira rapt lightly on the door. A few moments later, an exhausted looking Mrs. Shindou greeted them with obvious surprise. “Lieutenant Matsudaira. Detective Endou.”

“Sorry for bothering you so early, Ma’am,” Endou apologized.

With a small smile, the first since witnessing her son’s brutal attack, Mrs. Shindou waved off the detective’s apology. Stepping aside, she waved them both into the room, shutting the door behind them.

Matsudaira and Endou were met with the bandaged and bruised Shuichi Shindou who lay motionless in the room‘s sole bed.

“How is he?” Endou inquired with a jerk of his chin towards the comatose boy.

“Still unconscious,” Mrs. Shindou said as she sat down in the same chair by her son’s bedside that the two men had seen her in the day before, “but stable.”

“That’s good,” Endou nodded.

“Do they know when he’ll wake up?” Matsudaira asked.

Mrs. Shindou shook her head. “They can’t be sure. It might be today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe a week from tomorrow. Maybe--never.” She turned tear-filled eyes to her son lying as pale and as still as death. “Part of me dreads him waking up.”

“Why’s that?” Endou asked.

“Because then I’d have to-” The words choked to a halt. Mrs. Shindou paused to take a deep breath before continuing. “With a head injury such as the one Shuichi has, they say he might not remember the--the--incident. And while I’d prefer he not remember what happened…If he doesn’t remember, then I’d have to tell him that--that-” Mrs. Shindou broke off again. She swept a hand across her cheek, brushing at a stray tear. “I’m not sure how to tell him, you know, what happened.”

“You could always have someone come speak to him,” Endou suggested. “I’m sure the hospital has several qualified doctors on staff.”

Mrs. Shindou shook her head. Lifting her head, she gazed at her son. “That’s what Dr. Kyle was saying, but--I mean, I plan on talking to him about possibly seeing someone. I should’ve made him see someone after his father died, but, well, for something like this…I have to be the one to tell him. I should be the one to talk to him when he first wakes up.”

Endou nodded. Evan as a father of six, five girls and one boy, he couldn’t even begin to understand what Mrs. Shindou was going through. It must be hard; especially when it was obvious, she had nobody else to lean on.

“I was thinking of sending him to my mother’s,” she confided. “She still lives in Arashi where I grew up. I‘ve been trying to get her to move in with me or at least move into the area so that she’s closer to what family she has left, but she’s a stubborn old fool,” Mrs. Shindou laughed. “It’s just as well. I think the change will do Shuichi some good.”

“Definitely,” Endou agreed.

“You know, get him out of the city for a while.”

Endou nodded.

“My family used to have a place out that way,” Matsudaira said.

“Really?” Mrs. Shindou turned towards him, intrigued.

“Yeah. My grandfather used to be an angler. When he passed away,” Matsudaira did some quick calculations in his head, “’bout ten years back, my grandmother sold the house and moved in with my mother’s sister and her family. Regretted that decision for the rest of her life.”

“Oh dear.”

“As much as she loves her daughter and her son-in-law, she wishes she hadn’t been so quick to sell the place.”

“That’s why,” Endou added, “he bought the place last year when it came up for sale.”

“No way! Did you really? That’s so sweet,” Mrs. Shindou gushed.

Embarrassed, Matsudaira scratched the back of his head. He really did not understand what the big deal was. His grandmother was not the only one who loved that house and hated it when she sold it. Not only did he have many warm and wonderful memories of spending his summers there when he was a boy, the house in Byakko had been in the family for generations. But with the unexpected death of his grandfather, the house was suddenly too big for just his grandmother alone. Therefore, it made sense for her to downsize. He couldn’t blame her for that. But when the house went up for sale last fall, he made an offer-just for the hell of it-and was surprised when the owners accepted it.

“Anyway,” he said clearing his throat and ignoring the heat that colored his face.

Endou snickered at his partner’s discomfort. Mrs. Shindou echoed him.

“We came by to give you some good news.”

Mrs. Shindou snapped to attention. “Really?”

Endou sobered. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“This morning Taki Aizawa was officially charged with the assault on your son,” Matsudaira told the woman.

Clasping her hands to her mouth, Mrs. Shindou gasped. Her eyes, so much like her son’s, filled with tears.

“We brought him in yesterday,” Endou continued, “and questioned him for hours, but he refused to speak.”

“What,” Mrs. Shindou breathed in stunned outrage.

“But even without his confession, we had enough for a warrant to search his house,” Matsudaira picked up the story with a smug smirk.

Mrs. Shindou held her breath.

“A search of the Aizawas’ residence turned up evidence linking him to what happened to your son,” Endou said.

Mrs. Shindou sobbed. “Oh thank God.”

“When we showed him what the search turned up, he, of course, claimed the evidence was planted. That he had ‘nothing to do with nothing’.”

Rolling her eyes, Mrs. Shindou snorted.

“But we did find photos,” Matsudaira said, “that we’d like for you to take a look at.”

“Okay,” Mrs. Shindou nodded sitting upright and scooting to the edge of the chair she was sitting in.

While Matsudaira pulled out from his black cloth covered binder that he’d carried in with him, Endou wheeled the hospital tray around. Pulling out several leafs of paper, each with two rows of three photos; Matsudaira set them on the hospital tray. “Take a look at these photos and see if you recognize anyone. Okay?”

Mrs. Shindou nodded.

“Take your time,” Endou told her. “There’s no hurry.”

“Okay.”

“If you don’t recognize anyone then that’s okay too.”

Nodding, Mrs. Shindou scanned each face carefully and then examined them again once she reached the last photo on the page just to make sure. She could not say that she recognized any of the men in the photos until she turned to the last page of the second set of six Matsudaira laid out for her. The first photo on that page she recognized immediately as being one of the three miscreants who beat her son half to death. “This one,” she pointed feeling enraged all over again.

Endou pulled out a pen and circled the photo several times.

“Are you sure?” Matsudaira inquired, studying the woman’s face carefully.

“Yes,” she said with absolute certainty.

“Absolutely?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Shindou snapped. “This is the piece of shit that was kneeling over my son with a metal pipe!”

“Anyone else?” Endou asked.

Mrs. Shindou scanned the rest of the photos on that page and was about to reply negatively, but stopped when her gaze landed on the last two photos. “Him and him.” The first one was Taki Aizawa. She’d recognize him anywhere even with the dyed blond hair he had in the photo. After all, her son and Taki used to be the best of friends at one point. The other photo she’d picked out was of the shorter of the miscreants that had dared to lay a hand on her child.

Endou circled the photos much as he did for the first one.

“Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Shindou. You’ve been a great help,” Matsudaira said gathering up the sheets of photos.

“You catch those sons of bitches,” Mrs. Shindou growled.

Matsudaira nodded. “Don’t worry.”

“We will,” Endou finished. That was a promise. They had already agreed to turn to the press for help in identifying these two men since Aizawa was remaining stubbornly tightlipped. Photos of these two young degenerates were going to be plastered all over the evening news. Someone somewhere had to know who they were and since not everyone was going to be like Mrs. Aizawa, that someone was going to turn these two co-conspirators in. By this time tomorrow, Endou had a feeling Mrs. Shindou would be receiving some more very good news.

 

* * *

 

**That Evening - Byakko, Japan - Kuromoto Residence**

“The Arashi police need your help this evening to identify these two young men who are wanted for questioning in the assault of a sixteen year old boy earlier this week.”

Eighteen-year-old third year student Yuichi Kuromoto looked up from his math book that was open before him on the table to the television. The pencil he’d been using to drum against the book halted mid-stroke as he took in the pictures plastered on the television screen. Yuichi started. He flew upright. His heart leapt out of his chest. His pulse started racing. A soundless gasp escaped paling lips. The pencil he’d been holding slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the table where it rolled off onto his lap before tumbling to the floor and rolling beneath the bed.

One of the faces staring back at him from the television screen was him. Or at least someone who looked remarkably like him. The only difference in their appearance was the short-cropped black hair spiked with what Yuichi knew to be copious amounts of styling gel.

“This young man is described as being 170 centimeters tall and weighing approximately 85 kilograms with spiky black hair and dark brown eyes.”

Yuichi was not sure when it started, but he slowly began to realize that he was shaking his head back and forth over and over again.

The image on the screen changed.

“The other young man is described as being 180 centimeters tall and weighing approximately 77 kilograms with long black hair usually pulled back into a ponytail and hazel eyes.

“Both of these young men were last seen wearing Byakko All Boys High School uniforms and are said to be between seventeen and nineteen years old. If you’ve seen either of them or have any information pertaining to the crime, you are asked to contact the Byakko Police Department at-”

Wanted for questioning in an assault? Yuichi could not work out whether to be felt sick or pass out in shock. With a string of colorful and creative curses, he rubbed his hands over his face then racked his finger through his hair. This was nuts. This was seriously nuts. There was just no way! There had to be some sort of mistake.

Reaching for his phone, his fingers danced rapidly over the keys. He brought the phone to his ear and listened to it ring and ring and ring. He was just about to give up when someone picked up. “What the fuck did you do?” Yuichi snapped without any preamble.

“Oh fuck off,” slurred the male voice in his ear. “I don’t need this shit.”

“They say you beat up some sixteen-year-old!”

“Slut deserved it.”

“You’re wanted by the police asshole!”

“Whatever.”

“Jesus Christ Ma!” Yuichi combed his fingers through his short choppy locks as his agitation at his younger twin brother escalated. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Ever since you and Ken started hanging out with Aizawa-!”

“You keep Tatchi out of this,” Hijiri slurred.

“Why the fuck should I?” Yuichi demanded angrily. “He turned an honor student with a promising future in medicine into a brain dead idiot! And Ken! Ken was on the verge of becoming-”

“You’re giving me a headache.”

“Like I give a fu--Ma. Ma! Fuck!” Yuichi tossed his phone across the room. With a loud clatter, the back popped off and flew across the room and the battery fell to the floor with a thud. Gritting his teeth, Yuichi started pulling at his hair.

He loved his brother; really, he did, despite what Ma had become over the last year or two. There was no question or doubt in his mind that he would do anything for Ma. If his brother turned out to be B2K or Elizabeth Bathory, Yuichi would still love and support him. Nothing Ma could do or say would push Yuichi away. They were family and family stuck together no matter what. The same went for Ken. He loved Ken like a brother. The three of them grew up together. They used to do everything together. Their families had lived next door to one another forever. Then things started changing. Yuichi wasn’t even sure when or how or why. All he knew was that by the time he realized just how far apart he had drifted from Ma and Ken, they had already vanished beyond the horizon. It was obvious now just how far apart they had become.

Yes, he loved his brother. Yes, he would support him no matter what. Yes, he would do anything for his brother, but “anything” did not include Ma running around the city doing whatever he pleased thinking he was above the law.

Slamming his hands onto his math book, ignoring the stinging bite, Yuichi caught sight of his phone out of the corner of his eye. His mind was made up the instant he laid eyes on the destroyed electronic communication device. Sliding out from under the table, he crawled over to his phone, replaced the battery and then snapped on the back. After a momentary pause where he wondered if this was actually something he wanted to do, Yuichi dialed the police tip line. His call was picked up immediately.

“Yeah, uhm, I’m calling about those two guys who were wanted for questioning about that assault?” Pressing his back against the wall, Yuichi brought his knees up to his chest. Resting his elbow on his knee, he ran his fingers once more through his hair. “Yeah…I, uhm, I think I know them.” This was the right move. He knew that and yet he couldn’t get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth.

 

* * *

 

**The Next Morning - April 21st - Byakko, Japan - Byakko General Hospital**

Dr. Shigeki Kyle turned from the nurses’ station with an open file in his hand. Approaching footsteps had him looking up. “Lieutenant Matsudaira. Detective Endou,” Dr. Kyle greeted the two men, shutting the file and tucking it under his arm to shake their hands.

“Hello Doctor,” Matsudaira returned.

“Doctor,” Endou nodded in greeting.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Dr. Kyle told them. “I was about to call you. Mr. Shindou woke this morning.”

Matsudaira and Endou perked up at the news.

“How is he?” Matsudaira inquired as he allowed the doctor to steer him and his partner down the hall in the now familiar direction of where Shuichi Shindou‘s room was located. “Does he remember what happened?”

“An initial examination of Mr. Shindou showed signs that he’s healing, at least physically,” Dr. Kyle added. “He appears to be fine--coherent, but we’re going to be running some tests later today to make sure nothing was missed or overlooked, which is not uncommon given the severity of his state when he was brought in. We’re also going to assign a psychologist affiliated with the hospital to speak with him before we release him per hospital procedure. As for what happened to him, he apparently blacked out not too long after being jumped so there’s not much about the assault he could remember because he wasn’t conscious to know what was going on.”

“That’s some relief, I suppose,” Endou said as they paused outside of a patient room that he knew by now was assigned to Shuichi Shindou.

“I’m not too sure,” Dr. Kyle disagreed with his hand on the door handle. “If it were me, I would want to know what happened, otherwise, I would think you’d spend the rest of your life wondering just what happened and be unable to move on.”

Matsudaira nodded in agreement. “My old partner worked a case once where this young girl was attacked in a violent home invasion. Against all odds, she lived, but she had no memory of the incident. The last memory she had was getting up sometime before dawn to go to the bathroom and take some aspirin a week before and the next thing she knows, she’s waking up in the hospital a month later with half the bones in her body broken. It haunted her for years and eventually led her to commit suicide a decade ago.”

Dr. Kyle nodded sadly. “I’ve, unfortunately, worked a few too many cases like that myself.”

Endou was still of the mind that ignorance was bliss.

Pushing open the door, Dr. Kyle stepped into the private hospital room. Matsudaira and Endou followed. The last one into the room, Endou shut the door behind him. “Morning Shuichi, Mrs. Shindou,” Dr. Kyle greeted his patient and his mother as he stepped around the drawn curtain.

“Morning,” came the soft almost raspy whisper from the bed.

“Shuichi, there are two police officers here who have some questions for you, okay?”

“Sure,” answered the same raspy whisper.

Mrs. Shindou shifted uneasily in her chair besides her son’s bed, but remained silent.

Dr. Kyle stepped aside, pushing the curtain out of the way, to allow Matsudaira and Endou to step forward. Both law enforcements veterans studied the young man before them.

Sixteen-year-old Shuichi Shindou was lying upon the hospital bed watching both men wearily. Exhaustion, fear and hesitation filled his violet eyes. His complexion was pasty, making his coal black hair seem even darker. There were healing lacerations covering his face and the upper portion of his arms. There was a huge ugly greenish-yellow bruise on his jaw and his cheek. A cast covered his right hand and half of his arm. The hospital gown he was wearing puckered and bunched in places, making it obvious there were bandages wrapping his broken ribs.

“Hello, Shuichi,” Matsudaira greeted the young teen before him. “My name is Kyohei Matsudaira. This is my partner Daiki Endou.”

Endou inclined his head and he stepped up besides Matsudaira.

“Hi.”

“Thank you for speaking with us.”

“We need you to tell us what happened the day you were attacked,” Matsudaira told the boy. “Whatever you can remember.”

“Whatever you can tell us is fine. Alright?”

Shuichi stiffly nodded his head. “’Kay.”

“Did you see who it was that attacked you?”

“Yes,” was the immediate response.

“You did?” Matsudaira took a step towards the bed. “Would you be able to identify them if you saw them again?” he asked over a racing pulse. It was always an added incentive to any case to have eyewitnesses who could identify and testify against those responsible for a crime, but eyewitnesses weren’t everything and a case could not rely solely on those eyewitnesses because they were not as reliable as physical evidence. But if the victim of said crime, in this case an assault, could identify the criminal or criminals responsible, it was better than Christmas in July.

“Yes.”

Matsudaira stepped back to allow Endou to take his place.

As Endou unzipped the same black cloth binder they’d brought with them the day before when they had Mrs. Shindou identify the culprits she saw in the alley, Mrs. Shindou stood and using the controls on the inside of the hospital bed rails, slowly raised Shuichi into a comfortable sitting position. Then she returned to her seat knowing that if she interfered in any way, the whole case be compromised. That was the last thing she wanted.

Endou pulled out a sheaf of paper from the binder and set them on the hospital tray. On each sheet were two rows of three photos. Except for three of the photos, they were all different then the ones Mrs. Shindou had been given. “Take a look at these mugshots.”

Shuichi glanced from the photographs to the two detectives.

“Take your time,” Matsudaira said. “It’s okay if you don’t recognize any of them.”

Shuichi nodded jerkily. He seemed to be holding his breath as with a shaking hand he lifted the topmost sheet. Almost immediately, his pasty complexion went white. “Him,” he said, pointing with his casted arm.

Endou looked at the photo indicated. His face remained blank, but his pulse was racing. There was a fire burning inside him. He glanced over his shoulder at Matsudaira and gave a barely perceptible nod.

Got you you sick son of a bitch, Matsudaira thought.

Endou took out a pen and circled the photo of one Taki “Tatchi” Aizawa.

Shuichi shuffled through half of the remaining mugshots before he came upon another familiar face. The final mugshot turned out to be the third member of the Brainless Trio.

“Are you sure Shuichi?” Matsudaira asked. “You have to absolutely sure about this. There can be no doubt.”

With a determined expression on his face, Shuichi nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” Endou gathered the sheaf of paper and placed them back into his binder. “You did good Shuichi.”

“What happens now?” Mrs. Shindou asked them.

“Now we leave Shuichi to rest, but someone will be back later to take Shuichi’s statement,” Matsudaira said.

“We have some loose ends to deal with,” Endou continued, “but then we’ll hand everything to the DA and he’ll take it from there.”

“Thank you Lieutenant. Detective,” Mrs. Shindou said. “For everything.”

“Our pleasure.”

“Get some rest alright?” Matsudaira told mother and son.

Mrs. Shindou nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Matsudaira and Endou made there way out of the hospital knowing that day had been a good day and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

 

* * *

 

**Evening - April 25th**

“-guru Odagiri for the five o’clock news,” the field reporter finished from behind the desk in the newsroom.

“Turning to other news this evening,” the female co-anchor said from behind the news desk, “eighteen-year-old Taki Aizawa was arraigned in Byakko City Court this morning on several accounts of assault, battery, kidnapping, child endangerment, attempted rape and sodomy. His two co-defendants, eighteen-year-olds Ma Kuromoto and Ken Yamada, took plea deals in exchange for their testimonies against Aizawa. The trial is set to begin this fall. If convicted, Aizawa could spend up to twenty years behind bars.”

“Fire officials in a Tokyo suburb…” her male counterpart continued.

 

* * *

 

**Three Months Later - Morning - July 25th**

With the end of July came the end of term and the start of the summer holiday; not that it made much of a difference for Shuichi who hadn’t returned to school since being assaulted back in April. It was a combination of an overprotective mother and a fearful Shuichi. That was not to say Mrs. Shindou had allowed her only child to fall behind in his studies these last three months for she hadn’t. In fact, Shuichi’s mother was adamant that her son study harder than he ever had before and surpass his peers. Shuichi wasn’t sure that was going to happen no matter how hard he studied, but seeing as he’d had nothing else to do, he didn’t see the point in arguing.

Well, that wasn’t exactly accurate. He’d been busy over the last three months even without being boggled down with schoolwork. Even before he was released from the hospital, not only had he had regular therapy sessions, but also he’d started seeing a psychiatrist. He was also cooperating with the police and the DA with their investigation into his assault.

Now here it was summer vacation three months after his assault and not only could he finally put aside the studying for a few weeks, but he was finished with therapy, though both the doctor and his therapist told him it would be prudent of him to keep up with the exercises on his own at home as he was “still healing”.

As for the psychologist he was seeing, it turned out she had an office in Tokyo, which was convenient for Shuichi seeing as Tokyo--the district of Arashi more specifically--would be his home for the next few years.

Though his maternal grandmother, Maiko Negishi, was pushing eighty, she was delighted to have her grandson coming to stay with her. She just wished it were under better circumstances. So did Shuichi. He was just as happy to be able to spend time with his grandmother, whom he hadn’t seen in quite awhile as her health prevented her from traveling, though that didn’t mean that the move was easy. He’d never been away from home before and to say the homesickness hit him hard as soon as he went to bed last night would be an understatement--and he hadn’t even left yet!

“Arashi Station,” came the muffled voice over the speakers, interrupting Shuichi‘s musing. “Arashi Station.”

Startled and blinking rapidly to bring his mind and sight into focus, Shuichi sat up from where he’d been resting his forehead against the window and gazed about him as other passengers stood to stretch the kinks out of their bodies and gathered their bags and traveling companions together. He turned his attention from the other passengers to the window as he felt the train begin to decelerate, watching as it pulled into the terminal. He was surprised to learn they had arrived in Arashi already. Never before had he lost track of time like this. Where had the hours gone?

Shaking the wonderment aside, Shuichi stood up and hitched his pants up--wishing he had a belt--before shouldering his messenger bag and gathering his suitcase. While he had taken the train from Byakko to Arashi, taking some essentials along with, the rest of his belongings had been sent via moving van and would arrive at his grandmother’s place in the morning at the latest.

Stepping into the aisle, he followed the other passengers off the train and onto the platform, wheeling his suitcase behind him and hitching the strap of his bag up his shoulder when it started to slip. He glanced around for his grandmother who said she’d be waiting for him on the platform when he arrived, but he didn’t see her. Frowning, he checked the time. The train had arrived a few minutes early he realized. Maybe his grandmother just hadn’t arrived yet?

Shuichi crossed the platform to the nearest empty bench and sat down just as the train started to pull out of the station. He set his suitcase on the bench besides him and lifted the strap of his messenger bag over his head so that it lay across his chest--its constant slipping was beginning to irritate him--before reaching into the bag to pull out his phone.

He’d promised his mother he’d call when he arrived and that was what he did as he waited for his grandmother to arrive. They spoke for a little while, his mother sounding as if she had been crying and was trying to not cry as they spoke, before she had to hang up as she had to head into work.

By the time Shuichi ended the call with his mother and had slipped his phone back into his bag, a significant amount of time had passed and his grandmother still hadn’t arrived.

Had she forgotten?

Pulling back out his phone, he scrolled through its phonebook for his grandmother’s number and pressed send when he found it.

It rang and rang and rang.

Figuring she must be on her way, Shuichi ended the call, but didn’t put away his phone. Instead, he kept it clasp in his lap.

Fifteen minutes passed…

…Half an hour…

…Forty-five minutes…

Still, his grandmother hadn’t arrived.

Annoyed, Shuichi decided to try calling the house again, but like the last time, the phone just continued to ring. The answering machine wasn’t even kicking in, he realized, which it always did when his grandmother wasn’t available.

Annoyance turned to worry.

Keeping his phone in hand, Shuichi stood up and grabbing his suitcase’s handle with the other, made his way to the enclosed display case where the bus schedules were tacked up. He would have to transfer and then do a little walking in order to get to his grandmother’s house from the station, but it was feasible. Checking the current time against the times on the bus schedule, he saw he had twenty minutes before the next bus arrived.

Hitching up his pants, once again wishing he’d put on a belt this morning, Shuichi made his way through the station to the bus stop, making sure to keep an eye out for his grandmother along the way.

By the time the bus arrived, not only had he not seen his grandmother, but also he’d called the house several more times only for the line to ring endlessly.

His worry for his grandmother was increasing the longer she remained out of contact. This wasn’t like her. Not at all.

An hour later, he found himself standing outside his grandmother’s house. Her car was in the driveway and her front door was open. There was even a tray of flowers sitting out waiting to be transplanted alongside a whole bunch of gardening tools.

It certainly appeared as if his grandmother was home, but if that was the case, then why hadn’t she answered the phone? And why hadn’t she shown up at the station?

Pushing open the gate, he started up the front walk, making sure to shut and latch the gate behind him--more out of habit than anything; his grandmother used to have a dog. He trooped up the front steps to the porch and crossed to the front door--the screen door squealed as it was opened--and stepped into the house.

Thanks to the air conditioner his mother had bought his grandmother for her birthday last year, the house was much cooler than the sweltering heat outside; for which, Shuichi was extremely thankful for. The short walk from the bus stop had left him drenched in sweat.

Other than the quiet hum of the air conditioner, there was nothing but silence.

Frowning, he lifted the strap of his messenger bag over his head and set it besides the suitcase that he‘d set against the far wall out of the way. He stepped out of his sneakers and set them in the shoe cubby. There were several other pairs of shoes within the cubby unit that he recognized as belonging to his grandmother. But a single pair, which he recognized as her gardening shoes, was sitting out by the raised lip.

“Hello,” he called out.

No answer.

“Grandma?”

Again, no answer.

Now he was really beginning to grow concerned.

He poked his head into the living room. From there, he could see the tatami room as well as see out into the backyard through a set of sliding glass doors. Both rooms, as well as the yard, were empty, so he headed down the hall to the kitchen, passing the downstairs bathroom that was also empty. Standing in the threshold, his hands gripping the doorframe with slightly trembling hands, Shuichi scanned the recently remodeled kitchen--the empty recently remodeled kitchen.

“Grandma,” he called out.

Silence.

Where was she?

Biting his lip, Shuichi glanced over his shoulder back down the hall at his bag, wondering if he should call his mother, but he didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily. Could be his grandmother just stepped out for a moment or went to speak to the neighbors or something and lost track of time. She did that occasionally.

But no; something was wrong. He could feel it. It was making his antsy.

Not sure whether or not to call his mother about her mother having gone missing, which he refused to believe explicitly was the case, Shuichi shifted his weight.

That was when he saw her; or rather her feet. They were sticking out from behind the kitchen island. The sight had his pulse racing.

“Grandma!”

He tore through the kitchen, rounding the island, and fell to his knees besides her.

“Grandma,” he called. He reached out and shook her. “Grandma!”

When she did not respond, Shuichi started to panic.

“Oh God,” he cried, his voice trembling. “Grandma!”  


**…To Be Continued…**

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: For those who may not know, a DA--which is short for “District Attorney”--is the prosecuting attorney of a jurisdiction. I have no idea what the Japanese equivalent to a District Attorney is, so I just used DA.
> 
> Also, even thought Eiri doesn’t appear until the second part, I have created floor plans of what Eiri’s condominium looks like. If you’re interested in checking them out, check my profile for the link and make sure to leave a comment.


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